Long Live the Nightmare King
by The Dragon Lover
Summary: In order to regain the glory of his kingdom, His Royal Highness Kozmotis Pitchiner—otherwise known as Pitch Black, the Vanquisher of Light—decides to take on a queen. -Medieval-ish Alternate Universe. Original character inside.
1. Vanquisher of Light

**Title:** Vanquisher of Light  
**Word Count:** 574  
**Rating:** G  
**Fandom:** Rise of the Guardians/The Guardians of Childhood series (AU, using characters in "Midnight" series)  
**Pairings (if any):** Pitch/OC (technically)  
**Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc):** N/A  
**Summary:** In order to regain the glory of his kingdom, His Royal Highness Kozmotis Pitchiner—otherwise known as Pitch Black, the Vanquisher of Light—decides to take on a queen. (Medieval-ish Alternate Universe.)

* * *

**Author's Note**: This is the prologue. You may notice it's in second-person. It's the only part of this story that is in second-person; the rest is in third-person. This was written as part of a challenge in my LiveJournal writing community, WriterVerse.

* * *

The rule of Kozmotis Pitchiner was absolute, powerful… and dark.

You had made it so.

Your men stood guard in intimidating armor the color of the deepest night to match the flag that flew over the battlements. Your servants ensured the peasants never dirtied the carpet when they groveled at your feet. The noblemen that remained within the castle walls simpered and flattered you, the rightful king of all the lands.

It was unfortunate, then, that the kingdom had fallen into such a state.

There was once a time that it had reached every mountain and every shore, and any charlatan of a king or queen had bowed down to your might. The rebels had called it the Dark Ages, but you preferred to think of it as the Enlightened Era. When everyone had understood that you were the one and only king. Before the rebels had put a familiar face as the head of their efforts, and chipped away at your borders until they could scrounge up an army to combat you with.

Who would have thought they would succeed?

Now, your empire has shrunk to a measly plot of land in the northwest, its only saving grace being the immense, daunting mountains that made invasion too dangerous. If it weren't for that, the rebels might have swooped in and stolen your crown entirely; as it was, they had taken most of the surrounding lands and left you with a mockery of a kingdom to run. As if you were playing house.

Not any longer.

No, you've had enough. Enough lurking in the shadows, enough cursing the man who rose from the lowest of dirt to steal your lands and your people. No, you were going to take back what was rightfully yours by force. The world wouldn't soon forget the return of Kozmotis Pitchiner. It wouldn't be long before the Tsar Lunar remembered just why you had been given the name Pitch Black, Vanquisher of Light.

The Nightmare King.

But first, you had your reputation to consider. Even though you are loath to admit it, your advisers had a point: You haven't even bothered taking up another wife, after the death of your first—and your daughter. No, the thought had never crossed your mind; you were far too busy conquering nations, and later being forced to retreat from them. But sitting in the dark, plotting, has made you realize that your people expected you to, and this has sat heavily amongst your thoughts for the past fortnight. If you really want to win the people to your cause, you must concede that point.

And so, you have cast your eyes onto the noble families you house—because no other nation would offer their women, even if you had wanted to send an inquiry. Everyone is lacking when compared to your power, but some are less desirable than others. If you have to take on a queen, she will do exactly as you say and uphold the inspiring image of a great yet sympathetic woman in power.

After many weeks of silent deliberation, you make your choice—and send a servant to collect the head of the noble Braith family. There will be no need for negotiations; your rule is absolute, and the man will be eager to please his king. You must simply deal with the wedding preparations… then you will be one step closer to regaining the glory of old.

* * *

**Prompt**: Marriage Without Love

* * *

_-Dragon_


	2. Long Live the Nightmare King, Part One

**Title:** Long Live the Nightmare King (Part One)  
**Word Count:** 5250  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairings (if any):** Pitch/OC (technically)  
**Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc):** Some violence, character death, faint innuendo, incredibly AU (medieval setting), mentions of suicide  
**Summary:** Kozmotis Pitchiner, the Vanquisher of Light, has taken a wife. All that's left now is the world. –Written in increments of 250 and 500 words.

* * *

**Author's Note**: This is a short story that will comprise of two parts (not including the prologue), so keep your eyes peeled for part two! (Also, please forgive what may be a horrible attempt at a story set in a medieval world.)

* * *

With ceremony-planning left in capable hands and servants scurrying about the castle, Kozmotis Pitchiner was feeling rather accomplished. He was that much closer to being in control of the world once again; he could practically taste the power trickling back to him. His subjects grew restless, as if they could feel the winds of change blowing at their backs, pushing them forward into a new era.

It was almost enough to make a man giddy.

Still, he couldn't ignore formalities; he requested the bride's family join him at his end of the vast dining hall, and every noble raised their glass in a toast to the union. "To our King," Lord Braith praised.

This was murmured across the table by all except the bride herself, who looked to be too afraid to say anything. Ink hair drawn up in a tight, ornate bun, young Lady Braith kept her gaze on her plate, not once looking up at either her fellow aristocrats or her new husband. This boded well for his plan to have a compliant wife, but he almost regretted losing the opportunity to break her in. It would've been an interesting change of pace, to be sure.

A malicious urge prompted him to raise his own glass, earning the immediate attention of the nobles. "To a better future," he vowed, eyes glued to the woman seated beside him. Her hazel gaze snapped up at the sound of his voice, and he couldn't help a faint sneer as she blanched.

.

An invitation was extended for the Braiths to take up quarters in the castle, and they left to put everything in order. Servants had been offered for the task, but the family had to sift through their personal belongings and curios. It wasn't necessary to take the beds or dressers; the castle's furnishings were more valuable than anything they had. But countless tomes and commissioned pieces needed to be handled carefully in the move.

Excusing herself from her father's study, young Lady Braith withdrew into her room, casting about as if for some secret tunnel to run away from the future. But the arrangements had already been made. This would be the last afternoon spent in familiar territory; tonight, she would have one of the empty chambers within the castle.

And soon… she would share a bed with the king.

Her legs gave out. Leaning against her vanity and staring at the opulent rug, she whispered, "Midnight Pitchiner…" She choked, covering her mouth with a fist to keep anymore sounds from escaping. She had always known her marriage would be arranged by her father, but this was beyond their imagining. To have the _king_ ask for her hand?

_No… _claim_ my hand._ She understood just how ruthless the man nicknamed Pitch Black was; it hadn't been an inquiry so much as a command. This kept her from holding any bitterness towards her father for accepting the proposal. There had never been a choice—not really. Freewill was a myth in the kingdom of Bohgea.

_I could run away,_ she thought hysterically, scrabbling at her dresser to get back on her feet. _I could leave these lands and find shelter in the Land of the Moon._ The king there had fought against Kozmotis Pitchiner, and won. Surely his people would grant her sanctuary, after hearing her story? The rule of Tsar Lunar was rumored to be just, and compassionate. And his army was mighty.

Crossing the chamber with shaky steps, she stared out over the rooftops, towards the craggy pass that barred entry—and exit—for all. Countless soldiers stood guard at the gates, unmoving and unfeeling. Many likened them to possessed armor, whispering "Nightmare Men" as they marched the streets. People swore they didn't have faces, and it was entirely possible that behind those visors hid monsters.

The king's powers were mysterious… and dark.

She could run, true. But she would not escape. If the guards didn't catch her… the king would. _I would not make it. _And even if she did manage to slip out of the reach of the Nightmare King's influence, she would be leaving her parents to take the fall; they would surely be executed for treason in her stead. Freedom wasn't worth such a price.

Better to be a canary in a gilded cage than a lost, orphaned swallow.

Hot tears slipped down her face—a sign of her surrender. Stepping back to sit on her bed, she silently mourned the death of Midnight Braith.

.

With a sigh, Kozmotis drained the last of his wine. His fiancé—he sneered at the word—would arrive with her family by the next candlemark. In another fortnight, the union would be official, and a new queen would stand beside him as he began his bid for world conquest. Everything was going according to plan, and he let his shoulders sag from the relief this brought. _Finally,_ he thought._ Now it's only a matter of time._

It would be simple to have her tutored in the ways of royalty; she had likely been through similar lessons, being a nobleman's daughter. Alongside the usual etiquette, she would be instructed on diplomacy, government, and the art of war. (_As if I'd allow her to command my people,_ he snorted. But it was tradition.) In reality, she was merely there for the sake of the public. They were more likely to identify with—and therefore, support—a lovely young lady than an ambitious conqueror.

_She will win me my people…_ His grin was predatory. _…while I win the war._

Still, humoring another individual sharing his title as ruler of Bohgea was going to be trying on his patience—even if it was only in name. _She's so obviously inferior._ He contemplated using his magic on her but figured there was no need. It would be much easier to manipulate a person without powers—and a mortal.

_If this plan turns sour, I simply have to wait for life to take its course._

.

* * *

.

The first week of being the king's fiancé was a whirlwind of activity; Midnight went for numerous fittings and castle tours, and was introduced to so many servants she was sure she would be reciting their names in her sleep. She was always flanked by several handmaidens she received as "gifts," and they were always within sight of the royal guard. She had thought the men patrolling town had been frightening, but they didn't hold a candle to the tall, heavily armored soldiers stationed throughout the castle. Although she couldn't see their faces, either, she always felt their gazes on her neck.

Her time with her parents was fleeting, as she had much to do and little time for it. They had a busy air about them as well, being present at more meetings than she could remember them attending in her lifetime. Her father always wore a serious expression, but her mother would pass along soft smiles of encouragement. It helped, a little.

Even this came to an end, however, as the wedding loomed closer. The second week nearly consumed her as lessons began, tearing away the free time she borrowed from the early and late hours. She had to walk just so, hold her head just so, address her husband and her subjects _just so_. Clothes were layered and tightened until she could hardly breathe. As the responsibilities began to pile up, she wondered if it were possible to drown in anxiety. It certainly felt like it.

The only favor Fate had given her was the absence of the king. He was far too busy with his own duties to bother hunting down his wife-to-be, and for that she was grateful. It would only be a matter of time before she was forced to stand beside him and say her wedding vows… so she took what bit of solace she could. Her chamber was silent even as she cried deep into the night.

Her fears of breaking down during the ceremony proved to be unfounded; aiding the ingrained noble etiquette was permeating numbness, leaving her bereft of all emotion as she was fastened into her gown. The elegant ruffles and lace were wasted on such a loveless marriage. Otherwise, she would've been delighted to be seen in such a beautiful dress.

The wedding was all formalities and tradition; when she was presented as the new queen of Bohgea, the populace cheered out of respect for the old ways. The only custom that had been changed was the sealing kiss. Her relief was almost palpable when Kozmotis Pitchiner forewent this gesture, commanding one of his men to present her with a crown. It was accepted without comment. She felt like a puppet on a string.

His Majesty's closing toast was mocking, or so she heard it as such. "With this union, we shall lead our people into an era of glory. To the health of my wife… and of my future heirs."

The world dropped out from under her.

.

Annoyance was artfully hidden behind an indifferent mask as Kozmotis led the new Queen of Bohgea to the royal chambers. The ceremony had gone well enough, but all pretenses of poise had fled his wife after the toast. He had an idea of what caused it. The thought alone made him sneer.

A guard held the door ajar for the newlyweds before respectfully closing it behind them, giving them the privacy expected on the first evening of marriage. The woman retreated to stand against the wall, nearly wilting under his scrutiny.

The king finally scoffed, revealing his contempt as he was sure no one would overhear. "Cease your cowering, _milady._ I have no interest in sharing a bed." Even as he insulted her with his critical gaze, the relief this gave her amused him. He lifted his chin and sneered. "Indeed, I have no need. I do not sleep."

She was confused by his claim, but any questions she might have asked shriveled under his unwavering stare.

"As I do not need it," he continued, "you may use it." Taking her silence as understanding, he spun to address a far corner of the room. "I would advise keeping your curiosity to a minimum, unless you don't value your fingers… or your life."

The soft gasp told him when she caught sight of the dark figure in the corner. It didn't have a definite form, but a glowing pair of eyes was enough to convince the willowy woman not to approach.

.

That first night, Midnight couldn't manage to fall asleep. After her husband left, she had spent the dark hours of the night staring at the _thing_ in the corner. Every time she blinked, it seemed to move.

Lessons began just before dawn, when her handmaidens glided through the door to prepare her for the day. They didn't appear to notice the figure in the corner. The royal outfit was only a bit more complicated than a noble's; she barely winced when they tightened the strings. She left the room appearing queenlier than she actually felt. Five sunrises and sunsets passed in this manner, albeit achieving fitful sleep as she couldn't continue her nightly vigil.

On the sixth day, the routine was broken when Kozmotis entered after her handmaidens. She froze, uncertain of what his presence could mean.

"Make her presentable," he ordered, completely disregarding Midnight as he took up his sword—for ornamentation, she assumed, as he wasn't dressed for battle. He flicked a hand at the corner. "Go."

The figure dropped to the floor, and through it, leaving behind no trace of its existence. She was almost intrigued.

Unable to gather enough courage to ask, she waited patiently for a reason to his haste. _I will not earn his wrath._ Instead of the royal gown, she was handed riding gear and trousers. It was only after she was dressed—which would have been much more embarrassing had he not been ignoring her the entire time—that he enlightened her.

"You are to accompany me to the city gates." He glanced at her, giving a light sneer. "My men prepare to march."

_March?_ It sounded as if he was preparing for war. But the Land of the Moon hadn't shown any signs of invasion—their armies hadn't the ability to breach the fortress walls, and after they had run the Nightmare King's armies out an air of peace had descended upon the new empire. It had been decades since either kingdom had direct contact with one another. _Is he planning an attack?_

Kozmotis didn't allow her time to speculate as his cold gaze ordered her out of the room. She walked stiffly at his side, keeping her eyes on the armored boots of the guards flanking them. It was a surprise when she found a horse waiting at the castle instead of a carriage. Examining its dark flank and coal-colored mane, she wondered for a moment if they were meant to share the saddle.

Then he raised his palm and commanded, "Come."

Out of the cobblestone came a twisting darkness, rising with his hand like a puppet on strings. It lengthened and straightened until a solid form came from the shadow—and familiar glowing eyes turned to examine its master. The king stepped forward, swinging a leg effortlessly over the shadow-horse's back. Fear and awe warred within Midnight, being witness to the legendary powers of Pitch Black, the Vanquisher of Light.

His silent stare implied a sneer at her expression.

.

Kozmotis examined the troops from atop his dark steed, unable to hold back his smugness. They were outfitted with the sharpest blades and strongest armor, and every soldier's spine straightened once he came into view. They respected him—feared him—and would go to war for him without protest. No doubt they were as tired as he of patrolling quiet streets.

Ignoring the meek presence at his side, he called his army to attention, scrutinizing the rigidity of their postures in the dim pre-dawn light.

They were to travel east through the mountains, approaching the northern province of Sosul'da. There, they would lay siege upon its capital under cover of night, beginning just as the sun dove behind the peaks. He needn't worry of his own troops being lost in the darkness, with the power he wielded. They would never be led astray.

"For all who doubt the strength of the Vanquisher of Light and his army…" He raised a hand, twisting his fingers to wrench their shadows from the earth. A few were startled, but all stood their ground as their ranks doubled. He bared his teeth viciously. "They will regret underestimating our might."

He bid them leave to finish preparations and escorted his wife back to the castle, informing the guards, "I shall return at moonset. Stay vigilant."

It was unexpected when his wife asked, "You're going with them?" Her silence hadn't been broken since their wedding.

Sneering, he replied, "I will be witness to my enemies' defeat."

.

Midnight couldn't understand her husband's decision to accompany his army. She wasn't a soldier or a master tactician, but she couldn't imagine it was wise to leave his people to pursue the glories of battle. "Pitch Black" was well-known for his pride, but also his cunning; surely he wasn't going to leave his castle defenseless? The guards still patrolled the halls, but if someone managed to find a way past the fortress walls…

She didn't support his bid for world conquest, but she didn't want to fall victim to his folly.

Although lessons and meetings had concluded hours before, she couldn't manage sleep. Pacing feverishly, she stopped in fits to stare at the sconces, trying to figure out what Kozmotis Pitchiner's plans were. _He can create soldiers out of shadows,_ she noted, shivering at the memory. _His steed was made in a similar manner._

The corner remained bare. This was more unnerving than when it was occupied.

She came to a stop before a suit of armor she had only seen worn in portraits scattered throughout the castle. It was predictably dark, polished to a shine, yet still managed to appear lifeless. Golden trim decorated the jagged edges, the only other splash of color being the blood red cape pinned to the shoulders with round brooches. It looked sinister—which was probably the intent.

Before his reign as ruler of Bohgea, Kozmotis had led the Tsar Lunar's army. But history was murky in those times; it was never really explained why he had turned on his king, or where he had gotten his powers. What happened so long ago to make him curse the Land of the Moon?

Gaze unfocused, she noticed movement reflected in the armor just before something clapped over her mouth.

Her screams were restrained, as were any efforts to break free of her assailant's grip. Blinded by terror, she froze when a familiar voiced hissed into her ear, "Cease your noise, _milady._" Struck mute by his sudden appearance, she went limp in his grasp, adrenaline seeping out of her muscles as her heart threatened to burst from her chest. Calm was slow in coming.

Thankfully, the king didn't dump her on the floor, although his scowl once she stepped away suggested he had been sorely tempted. Smoothing wrinkles from his garments, he looked up with narrowed eyes when she finally asked, breathless, "How did you _do_ that? You left before dawn!"

Her amazement was quelled by his dark look, but he answered her question regardless. "You have seen the shadows I can summon." Scoffing, he lifted his chin. "It is just as simple to use them as transport."

"Transport…?" Her eyes widened; then she cast her gaze to the corner—finding a familiar pair of glowing eyes returning her stare. She swallowed any further questions, not liking the restless way the figure flickered.

Turning with a sneer, Kozmotis informed her before quitting the room, "I am not the fool the _Tsar_ paints me out to be."

.

* * *

.

The assault on the northwestern province went almost smoothly; the night was deep, and the ethereal nature of his Nightmare Men disarmed the defenders. It had taken his forces a week to arrive at the capital thanks to effortless nighttime maneuvering, and the unexpectedness of the attack aided the spread of chaos and disorder.

Pitch Black had returned to the Land of the Moon.

Amidst fighting soldiers and fleeing citizens, the Nightmare King approached the Duke of Sosul'da. Whatever mysterious powers the Tsar Lunar had given him hadn't kept his hair from turning gray, but his barrel gut held the strength of more than twenty men. The sabers in his hands were wielded with precision; to challenge him was to initiate a dangerous dance.

"What are you hoping to accomplish tonight, Pitch Black," asked Nicholas St. North, sliding into a battle-ready stance. "The tsar will stop you once more."

"He can try," Kozmotis sneered, flicking a scythe out of the shadows behind the duke. The man ducked, letting it sail over his head before making his charge. But the invader spun around and used the momentum for a heavy swing of his curved blade. The duel was short, but intense.

Eventually, the defenders had to pull back to protect the civilians, forcing their leader to follow or risk his army falling into further disarray. The Nightmare King's parting shot floated after him like an ominous breeze, along with his mocking laughter: "Tell your precious _tsar_ that my nightmares are ready."

.

Much to Midnight's dismay, the start of her husband's invasion succeeded, dealing a heavy blow to the Land of the Moon and its resources. It would be a few days yet before news arrived at the capital; this gave him time to begin a second assault on the northeastern province of Yágōng. A beautiful city lied in ruins by the end of the third week, and she mourned the death and destruction his army of men and shadows left behind it.

A startling change came over the Nightmare King: He was more prone to smirking and sneering, which she decided had to be the closest he had been to smiling in decades; he followed his army during the night hours, but he spent the daylight inside the castle walls to attend daily meetings with his advisers; and he personally checked to see if Midnight had been fed. She wasn't sure whether to appreciate what might have been duty-bound consideration or take offense to being treated like an invalid. Neither option appealed to her.

Lessons began to shift into theories and history, and her interest was piqued by the scarcity of information on their king. Kozmotis Pitchiner was very much a mystery, and everyone she asked refused to speak more than the vague praise expected of noblemen and scholars. With nothing to go on, she turned to leather-bound informants.

Mindful of the faceless guards at the door, she poured through dusty tome after dusty tome to find her answers, growing frustrated when they all skirted the issue. There was no mention of his time as the military genius under the Tsar Lunar, or of the origins of his mastery over shadows. Every detail she managed to pick out of the lengthy passages was painfully obscure, attributing his powers as the spoils of war and his rebellion ultimately inevitable.

After several hours of searching, an event mentioned in passing caught her eye. It sat within a document so old it would crumble if her touch wasn't delicate, predating the creation of Bohgea. Many of the words had faded with time, requiring concentration to decipher.

"_It was to the regret of all under the soft light of the moon that we were required to mourn the memory of the lovely Lady Pitchiner. A victim of vicious bandits, along with her daughter Emily Jane, she was dearly loved by servants and noblemen alike. The one who shall grieve for them longest, however, is the brokenhearted high general of the Land of the Moon who was once husband and father: Sir Kozmotis Pitchiner._"

Air caught in her throat. _Lady Pitchiner?_ She vaguely remembered other nobles whispering about the king's marriage, describing it as the second. But no one could name his first wife—indeed, the woman had no name even in this official record. This was the first Midnight had heard of a life before Pitch Black's fearsome reign.

"Emily Jane," she muttered.

This certainly explained why he mockingly called her "_milady_." Never Lady Pitchiner.

.

The king's routine was disrupted by the unexpected absence of his wife. Retaining a semblance of calm, Kozmotis controlled his impatience as he sent a shadow to find her. Her location was puzzling, as she had very few lulls in her schedule. _Which lesson sent her pouring through the archives?_

His arrival wasn't announced by a closing door; with the shadows at his disposal, he could enter without a sound. This fact was useful in approaching the woman without alerting her, giving him the leisure to examine her materials and posture. It appeared she had been at this table long enough to tempt her to slouch. Whatever she was searching for was serious enough to have her push aside her current tome in frustration and pull another closer to peruse.

Scanning the titles scattered about her workspace, Kozmotis finally announced his presence.

"You've certainly become involved in your studies."

Her shriek was mildly gratifying, if a bit painfully high. She nearly fell out of her chair in her hurry to get to her feet, cheeks burning.

"As inspirational as your dedication is, _milady,_" he continued, tone sarcastic, "you haven't eaten lunch. Come." Once her things had been replaced, Midnight immediately fell into step beside him, which greatly pleased him. On a whim, he asked her, "What were you searching for?"

His suspicions were aroused by the spike of fear in her heart. She merely breathed, "My lessons weren't clear on several subjects. But I've found nothing more on those matters."

.

As far as Midnight could tell, Bohgea's invasion of the Land of the Moon was proceeding as planned; she overheard advisers discussing the Nightmare King's powers growing in the swell of fear, and the castle was abuzz as smiths and noblemen supplied his growing army. Rumors went that people consumed by fear became shadows to fight on his side.

The thought made her shudder.

Yet even with all of the urgent matters he had to attend to, Kozmotis Pitchiner still ensured she was fed properly. She figured it was a countermeasure to any hysterical plans to starve and free herself from the marriage with death, and was surprised when the idea wasn't at all appealing. Although she was not happy, she was no longer terrified. Life had become bearable within the castle walls, and the few times she had been displayed to the public were mercifully short. (Even without years of political experience, she knew she was like a doll for the people to see dressed up, or a puppet to perform for them.) She rarely had to suffer the king's presence.

If she ignored everything except her studies, she could almost pretend there wasn't a war going on.

As time went on, she saw less and less of her husband. No doubt he was chipping away at the resistance that had risen against his forces, using the darkness to his advantage. Although he had essentially absorbed two provinces of the Land of the Moon, the lords had managed to retreat to the main capital and muster up an answering army. The Duke of Sosul'da and the Duchess of Yágōng were fierce fighters both, eager to make further progress difficult.

All of this and more Midnight managed to gleam from gossiping servants, but in the back of her mind sat the incomplete story of the first Lady Pitchiner and her unfortunate end.

On the night of the fourth new moon since their wedding, she stood before an immense portrait of the king, wearing the armor that still sat unused in the royal chambers. Even under the adoring stroke of the brush, Kozmotis wasn't handsome in any stretch of the imagination. With a hooked nose, thin lips pursed in a slight frown, and a sharp gaze that glowed with malice… He could only ever inspire fear.

_What was Kozmotis like before he became Pitch Black, Vanquisher of Light?_

If he hadn't changed much in appearance—barring whatever a boundless hatred could do to one's body—then he'd had to have been a man of honor and love. If his first wife had been praised by both peasants and noblemen, it didn't follow that she would have married and borne the child of a terrible man. In the golden, lighthearted times of the previous tsar's reign, unions amongst the nobles were rarely dictated by necessity. They'd had the freedom to find love.

_I wish I'd had the same,_ she thought with regret. She returned to her bed to fall into restless slumber.

.

* * *

.

If a person infamous for his title "Vanquisher of Light" really could look on the bright side of these circumstances, he'd be thankful that the southern province hadn't yet entered the game. As it was, he already had the attention of the rest of the Land of the Moon' forces.

Kozmotis wasn't one to hope, but he had planned to strike the heart of the cheerful kingdom before they could recuperate. His main target was the Tsar Lunar himself. But three of the legendary warriors responsible for his first defeat had managed to pool their forces, and he expected the last of their merry band to join before long. Time was of the essence.

He employed the tried and true tactic of divide-and-conquer, drawing out his most dangerous foe. As the others were held back by his legions of shadows and men, the Boogeyman faced the Sandman in a whirlwind duel of vicious agility and fatal precision—and then, the perfect opportunity came into play.

Without a moment's hesitation, Kozmotis sent a spear of darkness, piercing the golden sand that defended his opponent until a sick taint spread across it. While the short man tried to fight this infection, the invader launched a single shadow-arrow that flew true… and struck Sanderson through the heart.

Watching the largest obstacle to his plans collapse, Kozmotis' laughter rang over the clamor of battle. "Watch!" he taunted. "Watch as your beloved golden kingdom becomes _pitch black!_"

That was when he let his guard down.

.

Midnight was never a heavy sleeper, but she had become nearly hyperaware of her surroundings—even unconscious. That was why she startled awake at the metallic sound of something dropping.

Sitting up, she peered into the darkness blearily, trying to make sense of what she saw. _Is that… _A gasp tore from her throat, and the covers were thrown to the floor as she stumbled to the figure kneeling in the once barren corner. His sword lied beside him. "Milord!"

A hand was pressed against his right side, stemming the bleeding of a grievous wound. And the other was wrapped around the icy-blue stake that had created it.

Midnight choked.

Kozmotis struggled to stand. When she moved to stop him, his temper flared. "_Unhand me,_ you useless—"

"You'll make it worse," she protested, hysterically asking herself where she had left her senses. _Arguing with the Nightmare King? Am I mad?_ But her heart raced as she watched blood drip onto the opulent rug. Was the notorious Pitch Black, Vanquisher of Light… mortal?

He snarled, refusing her assistance as he heaved himself to his feet. "It will heal," he growled, unknowingly answering her question. But when he took a step forward, he staggered.

"Gods," swore Midnight. Her mother would've been disappointed. Ignoring his venom, she wrapped a delicate arm around his waist. He went to pull away, so she begged in a whisper, "_Please._ Let me…"

Resentment was quickly overcome by pain and exhaustion; before long, he was perched on the edge of the bed as she stood wringing her hands. She babbled, "Sh-should I get a doctor?" Closer inspection revealed the stake wasn't wood or metal, but pure _ice._

"No." His voice was low, anger simmering. With a swift tug, the stake was dislodged and tossed aside, much to her alarm. But Kozmotis pressed a palm to the wound and focused until darkness seeped into it. "There is nothing they can do." Gradually, his body began to knit itself back together.

There was nothing for it. Silently crossing the room, Midnight grasped the back of a chair before he asked, tone accusing, "What are you doing?"

Lifting the chair was difficult, but kept noise to a minimum. She positioned it beside the bed and took her seat before focusing her gaze on her lap. "…you need to rest."

"Do not tell me what I _need,_" he hissed, eyes burning like smelted coins.

"Forgive me, milord." Ducking her head further, she admitted, "I have survived on less sleep. And I won't be able to rest when I know you've been injured."

"Your sympathy is meaningless."

She remained silent, knowing she couldn't convince him with pretty words. But it wasn't necessary, as he swung his legs over and reclined in the bed. He didn't sleep—simply lied there. She predicted a warning to keep this behind closed doors.

More frightening was her fear for him. He was a terrible man… but she didn't want to be alone.

She needed him alive.

.

* * *

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

_-Dragon_


End file.
